


Something in the Way She Knows

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Drabble Collection, F/F, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Girl Gangs, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Roommates, Sick Fic, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:09:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8773096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: Skimmons drabble collection from tubmlr prompts!





	1. foster care au

**Author's Note:**

> prompt by florchis: dying day by brandi carlile

It’s been two months and four days since she last saw Jemma, since she ran away from the temporary foster home the Adden’s had given them in that too-small town in Southern Wisconsin, since she took what little money she had saved up and bought the beat up van that was always parked outside the 7-Eleven, white and blue and too dingy for anyone better to buy it, since she drove down the highway in a direction chosen on a whim and decided to make a new life for herself.

It’s been two months and three days since she realized she didn’t want a new life if that meant a life without Jemma.

She parks on the street, not wanting the headlights to glare into the windows at the front of the Adden’s house. Not that any of them would be awake to see it, it’s almost three in the morning, and the street is quiet, a very suburban kind of quiet. Though winter hasn’t arrived, it’s cold enough outside that her fingers feel frozen to the wheel, since she can’t afford to run the heating in the van.

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and clicks on Jemma’s name. She has forty-five unread texts, two from Mr. Adden, and forty-three from Jemma, that she hasn’t looked at since she left. Maybe it was just cruel, but she couldn’t bear to look at them. Her eyes linger on the last one, _please, just tell me you’re okay,_ before she clicks the call button.

Jemma picks up after two rings, and gives nothing but a sleepy grunt.

“Come outside,” Daisy says, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

Jemma sounds immediately more alert. “Daisy?”

The door slams closed at the same time that Daisy hangs up the phone, and she stalls beside the van, almost cowering behind it, suddenly more nervous than she thought possible at the prospect of facing Jemma again. But then she gathers herself, and picks her way through the slightly-too-long grass of the front yard, and stops before the front door.

She has just enough time to almost psych herself out before it’s being thrown open, and then Jemma is standing in front of her, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, robe hung haphazardly over pajamas that are just a little too big on her, because they used to be Daisy’s, a look on her face that says she isn’t sure if she’s dreaming or not.

Daisy feels like she can breathe again for the first time in months, and then, ironically, the air leaves her in a whoosh as Jemma slaps her across the face.

Before she can register the pain she’s pulled into a crushing hug, and Jemma is choking out in her ear, “Don’t ever—ever—do that to me again.”

Daisy gives a weak laugh, brings her arms up to pull Jemma impossibly closer to her. She smells like Jemma, and it’s the best thing Daisy has ever smelled. She’s warm, and it’s the best thing Daisy’s ever felt.

“Come away with me,” Daisy whispers.

Jemma pulls back, and Daisy feels the absence like a bullet to the gut.

“What?” Jemma breathes.

“I got a job,” Daisy tells her, says to herself that she’s only watching her face that carefully for a sign of hesitation, and not that she’s just trying to drink it in while she can, “and an apartment. The apartment is shit, but it’s in the district of a good high school. You can finish classes there, and I can work, and we can make a new life.” She fumbles at the last part, and then adds, quietly, “Together.”

Jemma draws her bottom lip between her teeth, and Daisy tries to draw her eyes away. “Daisy-”

“I know it’s stupid,” Daisy cuts her off. “You don’t have to tell me it’s stupid, ‘cause I know. But look, we can- we can file for emancipation, and I know we’ll win it. And I can take care of you, I promise I can.”

“Daisy-“ Jemma tries again.

“Please, Jem, just- I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I want that to start now. I can’t stand waiting anymore. I can’t stand being without you.”

Jemma opens her mouth to speak, but Daisy, her chest flaming with nerves, surges forward and catches Jemma’s lips with her own. She doesn’t stay long enough to be rebuffed, so the kiss isn’t as passionate as she imagined their first kiss might be, isn’t as lingering and sweet, but it’s just as desperate, and Jemma’s lips just as soft (raspberry lip balm, she distantly registers).

Daisy pulls back, and she knows she isn’t supposed to be the one looking like a deer in the headlights, but she does. “I’m sorry, but I’ve-“

“Yes.”

Daisy blinks once, twice. “What?”

Jemma smiles, that blinding smile that makes Daisy feel like she’s falling over nothing, lets out a breathless giggle. “I was just trying to say yes.”

“Oh.” Daisy grabs up Jemma’s hand, gives it a squeeze. “Are you sure? Because once we leave-“

“Yes.” Jemma’s smile drops, and she looks at Daisy seriously, squeezing her hand back. “Yes, Daisy.”

Before Daisy can respond, a light turns on in the house behind them. Both of their eyes widen, and then they’re taking off through the front yard, barreling into Daisy’s van and peeling off down the street.

Daisy huffs out a breath, looks in the rearview mirror at Mr. Adden stumbling out into the front yard, and can’t help but crack a grin.

She’s startled by Jemma’s sudden guffaw.

“What?” she asks. “What is it?”

“We’re starting a whole new life,” Jemma replies, looking at her with mirth behind her eyes. “And I don’t even have on shoes.”

Daisy’s laugh starts with a snort, and then bursts out of her frame, filling the whole van with the sound, joined by Jemma’s own. It’s a good way to start their new life, Daisy thinks, shoes or no.

And then she thinks: if she just stays in love with Jemma Simmons until her dying day, it’ll be a happy life.


	2. "leave the light on"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from buskidsburgade: "leave the light on"

Jemma clips the necklace around her neck and adjusts it against her clavicle, inspecting herself in the mirror. She’s done a little more makeup than she usually does (that much is thanks to Daisy’s handiwork on her neck—she had to make sure the concealer matched up evenly everywhere), has done her hair, and is fully dressed now, necklace included, and Daisy still hasn’t gotten out of bed. Daisy hasn’t yet taken up training with May in the mornings again, despite Jemma’s urging, so instead she sleeps until her own growling stomach wakes her.

Jemma stands at the edge of the bed and stares at her for a moment, which, yes, perhaps is a little creepy. But she’d been without Daisy for so long that now she takes every moment she can to remind herself that Daisy is, in fact, back, and safe, and most importantly, _hers_.

“Daisy,” Jemma mumbles, then says a little louder, “darling, wake up.”

Daisy groans, buries her head further in the pillows.

“I’m going to work in the lab a bit before breakfast, but can you please try to join me this time? We haven’t had breakfast together in ages and I know you miss my pancakes.”

Daisy, with a sigh, raises her head, blinking groggily at the clock on the bedside table. “Jemma, it’s 7:30.”

“Past due time for you to be waking up, then.”

“The only reason I’d be up at 7:30 is if I hadn’t gone to sleep in the first place. Which, obviously, I have, so that’s kind of moot.”

“Well, you can sleep for fifteen more minutes and still easily meet me in the kitchen at 8,” Jemma chirps.

“Ugh, babe.” Daisy’s head flops back down on the pillow, and she shifts from where she’s sprawled out on her stomach. “I need at least two more hours.”

Jemma shakes her head, trying to hide the fondness in the gesture, lest that be used against her. “Nope, not today. Today we’re having breakfast, and it’s going to be lovely, and you’re going to like it.”

Daisy pulls the pillow over her head, and Jemma leans down and yanks it away from her, tosses it on the floor on the other side of the room, does the same with the other pillow, and then strips the duvet off and lets it crumple to the ground, leaving Daisy bare on the mattress in just her underwear.

“Wow,” Daisy says, a challenge glinting in her eyes, “that is so not fair.”

Jemma just gives her a winning smile, leans down to peck her on the lips. “Eight on the dot, or I’m coming back to find you. And I’m leaving the lights on.”

Daisy flips her the bird on Jemma’s way out of the room, but it does nothing to damper the affection in her chest.

 

(She’s a little nervous that Daisy won’t show up, that she’d ignored her almost-pleas and just gone back to sleep, but sure enough, when she walks into the kitchen, Daisy is sitting there, at 7:59, with a tired smile and two mugs waiting on the table.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still taking prompts over at my tumblr buckysbears!


	3. 1920s girl gang au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt from anon: "Skye and Simmons are the youngests in their respective girls gangs/team/group of whatever you choose and they both try to act tough but one day the teams meet and these two babies are just so enamored with each other Jemma/Daisy gets a ball to the head or something like that"

Bobbi’s gum pops loudly, but it still doesn’t get Jemma’s attention. The younger girl has been staring at the bleachers on the other side of the baseball field for ages, and Bobbi is growing an inkling as to why. As the oldest member of the Fightin’ Doves, Bobbi has seen this happen before. She leans back against the bleachers behind her, brushes a spot of dirt off her vest, and turns to Kara, Sharon, and Hartley, who are sitting behind them.

“We’ve lost her, ladies,” Bobbi says with a mournful sigh. “Our little Jemma’s gone goofy.”

“You sure she’s not still primed from that hooch we filled her up with last night?” Hartley asks with a laugh.

“No, no,” Kara says, leaning over to inspect Jemma’s face, “that’s a goofy look if I’ve ever laid eyes on one.”

Sharon nudges Jemma’s back with her leather Oxford heel.

Jemma starts and whips around, eyes wide and guilty. She blinks at Sharon, and then slowly turns to survey the others—all staring at her with matching, almost feral grins.

“What?” she asks defensively.

Bobbi reaches over to tug on Jemma’s tie, and the girl swats her hand away. “Would I be mistaken to ask if someone was a bit infatuated with that new Shieldette girl over there?”

Jemma splutters. “I- You’re not- Yes, yes you would be. Mistaken, that is.”

With a laugh, Bobbi throws an arm around Jemma’s shoulders, dragging her into her side. “Calm down, Bearcat. She’s cute.”

Sharon leans over them to get a better look. “Young, too. What would you say, around 14? Just your age, Jemma.”

Jemma’s flushed dark red, and she turns to bury her face in Bobbi’s neck. Bobbi strokes her long hair, trying to make soothing sounds past the grin she shoots at the others.

Jemma mumbles something into Bobbi’s neck, but it’s too quiet and muffled for any of them to make out.

“What’s that, Bearcat? Gotta speak up.”

“What’s her name?”

“She goes by Skye,” Kara informs them, casually inspecting her nail polish. “Don’t think that’s her real name. No family, as far as I’ve heard, no real friends, either. The Cavalry found out and took her under her wing, and convinced Carter—Peggy, not you, Sharon—to let her join up. Feisty kid. She almost knocked off Ward at the pop joint for looking at her funny.”

Bobbi turns back to bat her eyelashes at Kara. “And how do you know all this about our enemy?”

Kara rolls her eyes. “You know Hartley is raiding Victoria’s panties every other night. They gossip.”

Hartley smiles. “Guilty as charged.”

Bobbi glares at the both of them, then wiggles her shoulder, getting Jemma’s attention. “Go say hi.”

Jemma pulls back in surprise, the blush not yet gone from her features. “But we’re enemies.”

“Only on weekdays.” Bobbi smiles.

Jemma bites her lip, staring hard at Bobbi, and eventually shakes her head. “No, no, it’s fine.”

“I really don’t mind, Bearcat.”

Shooting a longing glance over to the other bleachers, Jemma shakes her head again. “No. But thanks.”

Bobbi gives her a squeeze, nodding. “Alright, whatever you say. How ‘bout we just enjoy this game, yeah? Jimmy Two-Toes is really running them through the ringer today.”

Jemma huffs a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

For a while they just watch the neighborhood baseball game in companionable silence, with the occasional snide comment thrown in from Kara or Hartley. It’s a decent enough game, a good way to spend a Sunday afternoon, but Jemma is distracted. She keeps finding herself looking at Skye, which wouldn’t be as much of a problem if Skye wasn’t looking right back.

As it happens, neither of them sees it coming when a stray baseball flies off the field and hits smackdab on Skye’s forehead, knocking her back against the bleacher row behind her to the sound of surprised shouts from the girls sitting around her.

Jemma immediately gets to her feet, hands balling to fists and chest seized in panic.

“Wow, that was a good hit,” Sharon says, wincing in sympathy.

Jemma snatches up Bobbi’s hand and tugs her up, leading her to the bleacher stairs. “We have to see if she’s alright.”

“Okay- Okay, hey, slow down.”

Even the good foot that Bobbi has on Jemma doesn’t stop her from tripping over her own feet as Jemma hurriedly drags her down the stairs and around the edge of the field to get to the other bleachers. They’re about to round the last corner when Peggy Carter intercepts them, arms crossed over her blue, collared dress.

She flashes them a smile. “Sorry, birds, this is our side of the field.”

“We know,” Bobbi assures her. “But Jemma here just wanted to make sure that Skye was alright after that nasty hit she took.”

“She’s just fine,” Peggy says, not moving an inch.

“Peggy,” Bobbi implores softly.

Peggy glances down at the death grip Jemma has on Bobbi’s hand, and then over to Jemma’s nervous face, and lets out a short sigh. “Alright, follow me.”

They follow close behind and Peggy leads them to her group’s corner of the bleachers, where May, Victoria, and Angie are hovered around the fallen Skye. Jemma rushes over and climbs onto the first bleacher, practically shouldering Victoria out of the way to get a look at Skye, who’s leaned back in May’s lap.

“What’re they doing over here, English?” Angie asks.

Peggy holds up her hands. “Just a friendly check-up. Nothing to worry about.”

Skye blinks her eyes open, and they immediately land on Jemma’s face. “Hey,” she croaks out.

Butterflies are fluttering around Jemma’s stomach, and she has to swallow hard before she can answer. “Hi,” she says. “Are you alright?”

There’s a sizable bruise growing on Skye’s forehead, just under the sweep of her shortly cut hair, and it’s already started to swell. There’s a cut in the middle, and a bead of blood has dripped down the side of her face. “I am now.”

Jemma isn’t sure what she means by that, so she turns to the others. “Does anyone have a torch?” Someone, she’s not sure who, passes one to her, and she takes it and squeezes in to kneel next to Skye’s head. “Look straight ahead, alright?”

Skye nods and then obeys, and Jemma turns on the flashlight and shines it into one of Skye’s eyes, then the other.

“How are you feeling?” she asks. “Nauseated at all?”

“Nope,” Skye says, popping the ‘p’.

Jemma stands, passes the flashlight to Angie and licks her lips nervously. “I don’t think she has a concussion. I do have- um-“ She pulls a bandaid out of her back pocket, and then leans down again and delicately adheres it to Skye’s cut, trying not to focus on how close their faces are.

Before she can pull away, Skye surges up and presses a chaste kiss to Jemma’s lips. Jemma freezes, not moving as Skye pulls away and gives her a cheeky grin.

“Thanks, doc,” Skye says. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Bobbi laughs, but May rolls her eyes and gives Skye a gentle smack on the side of the head. “Keep it together, kid.”

“Um,” Jemma squeaks. “Yes- uh- not- not a problem. Anytime.”

It’s not that Jemma is staring, but the movement of Skye’s tongue darting out to lick her lips draws her attention.

“Anytime? You promise?”

“Alright,” Bobbi says, tugging Jemma away from the small crowd. “Time for us to go. Enjoy the rest of your evening, ladies.”

“Better watch that girl of yours,” May warns, but there’s an affection behind her words as well.

Bobbi stoops down to grab Jemma and throw her over one shoulder, and Jemma lets out a shrill shriek, clamping her legs together and reaching behind her to tug her skirt down, worried that the view she’s giving Skye is a bit premature.

“You know I will.” Bobbi shoots them a two-fingered salute and turns to carry Jemma back toward their side of the bleachers.

Jemma resolves herself to laying limply in Bobbi’s arms. Once they’re far enough away, she whispers, “She kissed me.”

Bobbi snorts. “I saw. I’d say she’s carrying quite the torch herself.”

Jemma flushes. “Do you think I can get her to do it again?”

“That’s a safe bet.”

Jemma wiggles until Bobbi readjusts her so she’s being carried princess-style. She leans her head against Bobbi’s shoulder and lets out a wistful sigh. “I really want her to do it again.”

Bobbi bounces her hard enough that Jemma almost screams, and clings harder to Bobbi’s neck.

“Then I think you’re going to be attending a lot of ball games.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still taking prompts over at my tumblr buckysbears!


	4. "bird" watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from thelatenightstoryteller's prompt: "Daisy takes Jemma bird watching for her birthday to see a rare flock if birds"

“This is _not_ what I meant by ‘bird watching’!” Jemma huffs out, still at a dead sprint.

“What? This should- This should totally count,” Daisy half-yells back, trying not to trip over the craggy rocks beneath her feet.

“Do you see any birds? I don’t see any birds.” Jemma knows her voice is becoming more and more shrill, and she hates it, but she also couldn’t care less at the moment what her voice sounds like. She’s a little preoccupied. The whole ‘running for her life’ thing.

Daisy flings one arm up to point into the air. “Then what the fuck are those things?”

“ _Pterosaurs_ ,” Jemma shouts. “They’re _pterosaurs_ , Daisy. They aren’t birds. They aren’t even-“ Jemma’s cut off as her shoe catches on a fallen, dried log, and her arms wheel as she crashes towards the ground. Daisy catches her before she makes contact, drags her back up, and they both keep running. “They aren’t even dinosaurs, which is what birds are.”

“Birds are _dinosaurs_!?”

Jemma would roll her eyes if she didn’t think it would make her off-balance.

“Jemma, look!” Daisy points to what might just be their salvation—a small cave, hidden away between the dead trees that mar the desert like old bones.

They both pick up their pace as a shriek sounds from overhead, and they only just make it into the entrance of the cave before one of the pterosaurs lands behind them, its small fingers scrambling in the dirt as it chases them. Daisy and Jemma fall to their knees and crawl into the cave, putting enough distance between themselves and the entrance that even the beast’s long, clacking beak can’t reach them.

They lay on their fronts a few yards away in the dirt, trying to catch their breath, neither of them wanting to take their eyes off the pterosaur, which stares at them with one beady eye.

“When we get back home, I’m going to kill you,” Jemma vows. “And if we don’t get back home, I’m going to kill you anyway.”

“If we don’t get back home, you can’t kill me. You’re gonna need me to repopulate.”

Jemma smacks her on the arm as best she can in the close quarters, and Daisy pouts.

“Look, I told Eduardo that you wanted to see birds, and he said he could take us to see cool, extinct birds that you’d never be able to see anywhere else. How was I supposed to know he meant dinosaurs?” She gives Jemma the best puppy-dog eyes she can manage. “I just wanted to give you a memorable birthday.”

“It was memorable alright,” Jemma growls. “Can you signal him to come pick us up already? I’d like to not stick around until I get eaten, thank you.”

Daisy pulls the little device out of her back pocket, and begins fiddling with the various knobs and buttons that somehow signal the Inhuman as to their whereabouts in time and space. It takes a few minutes for her to find the right combination, but then, in a flash, Eduardo wraps a hand around each of their arms and pulls them through the wormhole he created until they’re standing back in the common room on base, where they started.

They take a moment to readjust to their surroundings, standing there frazzled and covered in dirt and various unmentionables.

Fitz glances up from his tablet from his perch on the couch, then looks back up and gives them a good once-over, taking a swig from his beer. “Told you I should’ve planned your birthday.”

Jemma turns and stomps away.

Daisy brushes some of the dirt from her ripped jeans, nods at Fitz, then holds up a hand for Eduardo to high five.

“Dude, totally worth it.”


	5. panic attacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from anon's prompt: "The team go out to dinner and Daisy has a panic attack. Turns out that a former Abusive Foster mother was at the restaurant. Jemma goes up to her."
> 
> takes place vaguely in 3a. child abuse is alluded to but not really discussed

Jemma is kicking herself that she wasn’t the one to notice. As it is, she’s caught up in the warm glow she feels surrounded by her friends after being away from them from so long, the joy that she feels because she’s no longer overwhelmed just by the background din of the restaurant and can actually enjoy the team’s rare day out, and the literal warmth that spreads in her chest from her second glass of wine. Mack is telling a story that she’s rather caught up in, so it surprises her when Fitz leans over her and asks Daisy if she’s okay.

The question is whispered, but it gets the attention of the whole team. Suddenly all eyes, Jemma’s included, are on Daisy, who’s staring down at the table with tears in her eyes and a slack mouth that quivers just enough to be noticeable.

 Daisy slowly moves her head to look over at Fitz, but it’s like she’s not even seeing him. “I …” She blinks heavily. “I don’t- I’m not-“ She turns to look at the rest of the team, who are all watching her, and something seems to dimly register, because she mutters an apology, stands up from the table, and heads towards the bathrooms.

May is already scooting her chair back, but Jemma holds a hand out. “I’ve got her.”

Bobbi reaches and grabs her hand as she passes. “Come get us if you need backup.”

Jemma gives a grim nod, and then follows Daisy to the women’s bathroom. When she enters, Daisy is stooped in front of the sink, splashing water on her face.

“Hey,” Jemma says softly, trying not to startle her.

Daisy is startled anyway, and she whips around, eyes wide and teary, her whole body shaking.

Jemma steps forward to pull her into a hug on instinct, then stops, unsure if that’s the smartest move, if that would be too much for Daisy to handle in her current state.

“Sk- Daisy,” she corrects quickly, “tell me what’s wrong. What’s going on?”

With a choked sob, Daisy moves forward and collapses onto Jemma, her hands balling to fists in the front of Jemma’s shirt. Jemma immediately wraps her in a tight hug, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand coming up to smooth over her short hair. She makes little shushing noises, squeezing her tighter.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright. You’re okay.”

“Don’t go,” Daisy grounds out past the tears.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise, I’m staying right here.”

Daisy lets loose another sob, and then a string of them, into the crook of Jemma’s neck. Her face is still wet, and it’s a little cold, but Jemma doesn’t mind. She just slowly rocks them both as Daisy cries, trying to figure out what could’ve set her off.

She doesn’t ask until Daisy has calmed down considerably, until it’s mostly just sniffles and short sighs that Daisy is releasing. Jemma’s collar is soaked through, and she wonders if it’s uncomfortable for Daisy to have her face pressed against, and considers suggesting she switch sides, then brushes away the thought.

“What happened, Daisy?” she murmurs eventually.

Daisy sighs, unclenching her fists from Jemma’s shirt and hesitantly wrapping her arms around Jemma’s back. “She was wearing the same sweater.”

“What?” For a moment Daisy doesn’t respond, and Jemma squeezes her to get her attention. “I don’t know what that means.”

“When they dropped me off. Back at St. Agnes. She was wearing that same sweater.”

Jemma quickly puts the pieces together. “One of your foster mothers is here?”

Daisy nods against her neck.

“Oh no. And evidently not one of the good ones, judging from your reaction.”

Daisy takes a shaky breath, her fingers digging into Jemma’s back. “One of the bad ones. Really bad.”

Jemma winces sympathetically. “Is it bringing up memories?”

Daisy laughs bitterly, and the sound surprises Jemma enough that she pulls back from the hug. Daisy is practically glaring down at the floor, and she raises one arm to wipe the tear tracks off her face, though more just spill down in their place. “It’s stupid.”

Jemma reaches forward to squeeze Daisy’s arm, tilts her head down trying to make eye contact. “Darling, that’s not stupid. That’s perfectly understandable.”

“No, it’s-“ Daisy glances up, then away. “I’m not even remembering all the horrible things they did to me. It’s that- that fucking sweater. All I can remember is the day they dropped me off.” Her voice wavers, and it breaks when she says, “How fucking pathetic I felt, that even people like them didn’t want to keep me.”

“It wasn’t you, Daisy.” Jemma wants to pull her into another hug, but she also wants to be able to see her face for this conversation. “SHIELD had to keep moving you because of-“

“I know,” Daisy cuts her off. “I know that now. It’s just. The damage is kind of done, you know? It didn’t break me, but-“ She blows out a breath, eyes rolling toward the ceiling to blink back tears that fall anyway. “-But fuck, it came close. And I learned- I learned that I wasn’t good enough. Not for a family, not for anyone. No matter what I did, I wasn’t good enough. And that-“ She chokes out a sob. “That sticks, you know? I try to unlearn it, but then she’s sitting there at the other table in that stupid blue sweater and it just all comes flooding back.”

“You _are_ good enough,” Jemma swears fiercely, though she knows no matter how much she believes it, it doesn’t mean Daisy will. “I promise, you are. But it doesn’t matter if I think it, it just matters if you know it. And you have to know it, Daisy. You have to know how valuable you are, how much we love you and need you.”

“Yeah,” Daisy mumbles.

“I swear, Daisy, we’d fall apart without you.”

Daisy finally catches her eye, and Jemma holds her gaze, a sad smile pulling at one corner of her mouth.

Daisy sniffles. “I’d fall apart without you, too.”

Jemma slips her hand down to lace her fingers with Daisy’s. “Well, let’s never find out, yeah?”

Daisy nods, and Jemma thinks that maybe she’ll be okay, that Jemma can get her calm enough to finish the rest of her dinner, when at that moment the bathroom door opens and Daisy’s eyes widen, her body clenched and frozen.

Jemma whips around, and standing there is an older woman with frizzy blonde hair, red lipstick, and a blue sweater. She pauses as she enters the bathroom, taking in Daisy’s blotchy, tear-stained face.

“Is she okay?” the woman asks, voice not quite sympathetic.

Despite herself, Jemma feels herself bristling. “You don’t even recognize her?” she growls.

“What?” The woman gives Daisy a once-over. “Why should I?”

Jemma grits her teeth. “You think you’d remember someone who used to live in your own home. Someone who you mistreated so horribly-“

A tug on her hand stops her, and Jemma turns back around to see that Daisy is shaking her head. _Not worth it_ , she mouths, though tears have filled her eyes again.

The woman has blanched, one hand pressed over her heart. “Mary …?”

Daisy sidesteps them both and hurriedly pulls Jemma out of the bathroom and out into the restaurant hallway. She lets out a shaking breath, her grip tightening on Jemma’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Jemma immediately apologizes. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s okay.” Daisy raises her free hand to wipe her cheeks.

“No, it wasn’t my place.” Jemma tilts her head. “Are you okay?”

Daisy shrugs. “She’s obviously moved on. Time for me to also, right?”

“You move on when you’re good and ready, and not a moment sooner.”

Daisy looks into her eyes, and Jemma tries to put all the conviction she can into her gaze.

“I think I’m ready.”

“Then we’ll figure out the rest from here. Together.”

“Yeah.” Daisy gives her a cautious smile. “Together.”


	6. Roommates with benefits au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the anon prompt: "friends with benefits or roommates pining for each other?" 
> 
> i decided to mix them! have some roommates with benefits who are pining for each other

****“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Daisy whispers into the dark room, her lips brushing Jemma’s skin as she speaks.

Jemma turns her head to look at her. “What? Cuddle? You usually love this part.”

Daisy pulls away, her eyes squeezing shut. “No, I- I mean-“

“Daisy?” Jemma sits up, one hand coming to hold the covers up over her bare chest, her other arm propping her up as she looks down at Daisy. “Love, what’s wrong?”

Daisy keeps her eyes shut, though her lip trembles without her permission. “Please don’t call me that right now.”

“Okay.”

Jemma’s tone—stricken and cautious—makes Daisy open her eyes. Jemma, above all else, looks worried, and just on this side of hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Daisy finds herself saying, though she hadn’t planned on saying it. “I just …” She sits up as well, rubs her hands over her face. “I can’t do this again.”

“Sex?” Jemma clarifies.

Daisy nods, not looking at her.

“I thought you liked it,” Jemma says. “Did I do something wrong?”

Daisy laughs, because Jemma had hit the exact _opposite_ nail on the head in the way that sometimes only Jemma can. “No, no. And I do- I did- I just-“ Daisy takes in a shaky inhale. She thought she’d be strong enough to have this conversation, and yet. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now, I’m gonna go back to my room.”

Daisy, still in underwear and a t-shirt, stands and makes her way out of the room, ignoring Jemma’s call after her. Jemma will have to get dressed before she tries to follow, always nervous about someone seeing in their apartment windows even on the second floor, and that might give Daisy enough time to get her head about her, psych herself back up for this conversation. It had gone so well when Daisy rehearsed it in the shower last night, but now her words are failing her.

She steps into her room and closes the door behind her, leaning back against it. She loves her room, it’s a safe haven after living in a van for so long, filled with things that are hers (something she never really could say in the orphanage) and that remind her of her friends, but secretly … she’s always liked Jemma’s room better. Being in there had always made her feel safe. And not even just when she went in for sex, but all the little moments, too, like when they’d sit on the bed and Jemma would paint her nails, or when she would hang out in the morning and watch Jemma do her makeup, or even when she just would go in because she needed a hug.

Tears spring to her eyes, and she groans, banishing them with the balls of her hands. She really doesn’t want to have this conversation, but she can’t keep going like this.

A knock startles her, and she shoots away from the door, looking back at it like a deer in the headlights. She knew Jemma would follow her, but she needs more time (but then again, is she ever really going to be ready?).

“Daisy, please open up,” comes Jemma’s voice, muffled, from the hallway.

Daisy doesn’t say anything, just bites the inside of her lip.

Jemma huffs a sigh. “If you don’t answer, I’m just going to come in anyways.”

Daisy, a little spitefully, still doesn’t reply.

“Fine,” Jemma says, and then opens the door and walks into the room. She stops short, looking at Daisy. “I was expecting it to be locked.”

“What do you want, Jemma?” Daisy grits out, trying to hold back any further tears. Jemma is wearing booty shorts and one of Daisy’s t-shirts, which, really, how is that fair at all?

“What do I-? I want to know why you ran out like that. You just said something about ‘not being able to do this again’ and then you left.”

Daisy’s gaze wanders over her shelves, her bed, the posters on her wall, anywhere but Jemma. “I don’t think we should do this anymore. I- I can’t do this anymore.”

Jemma’s brows furrow. “Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

With a huff, Jemma crosses her arms. “I think I deserve a reason.”

Something bubbles up inside her—fear, or sadness, or anger, even (at herself, never, ever at Jemma)—Daisy flings out her arms. “You want a reason?” Her voice rises, pinching in her throat. “Pick any reason you want, Jemma, I don’t give a damn. I just don’t like you like that, I’ve found someone else, you’re just not good in bed. Which would you prefer?”

Something like a challenge glints in Jemma’s eyes. Daisy should’ve known better than to raise her voice. “I’d prefer the real answer,” Jemma says, deadly calm.

Daisy’s jaw clenches, and her arms drop. She knows she’s not getting out of this the easy way. “Fine. You want to know the real reason?”

Jemma nods once. “Yes.”

Daisy nods back. Her stomach has turned into one giant knot, and she’d much rather jump out her bedroom window than continue this conversation, but it’s going to happen one way or another. Either way she’ll be suffering some sort of bodily harm. “The real reason is that I can’t keep stringing myself along like this, Jemma. I can’t keep jumping into your bed every time you call me and getting myself deeper into this- this- whatever it is. Love, I guess. I can’t keep being your late night booty call and then going back to my room and just wishing that we didn’t have two separate beds. I can’t keep hoarding all those little moments between us, the little touches and the glances, because I can’t sustain myself off of them anymore. I can’t keep hoping, wishing, praying that one day you’ll realize you love me back. Dragging this out is killing me and I refuse to do it to myself anymore. I just can’t take it.”

Finished with her rant, Daisy deflates. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t this. She watches Jemma carefully, but she just looks … well. Angry. That vein in her forehead is popping out, and as Daisy watches she lifts a hand to rub between her brows.

“You were the one-“ Jemma starts, growling, and then pauses, closing her eyes and taking a deep inhale. “You were the one,” she says again, calmer this time, “before we had sex for the first time, who gave me this whole speech about how you weren’t going to be tied down again, how you weren’t looking for a relationship, how you just wanted to be your own woman, free to come and go as you please. And I accepted that. I didn’t like it, but I still said yes to this- this- whatever it is that we have, because I thought it would make you happy. And more importantly, because I thought it was all I could get from you. And I would take it, whatever of you I could get. And now you’re telling me, honest to God standing in front of me and saying that you’ve been- what, pining? And you weren’t even going to bother to say anything? You were just going to end it without telling me?”

Daisy stares wide-eyed, nervously rubbing her sweating palms against her legs (why did she just now have to remember she’s still not wearing pants?). “Well, it- it seemed like a good idea at the time,” she mumbles.

Jemma’s voice rises. “And you have the _audacity_ to say all of this like I’m just going to let you go? Because I don’t care about you or something? Because I don’t love you back?”

“You-“ Daisy’s heart is beating a mile a minute. “You love me back?”

Jemma lets out a loud groan, both her hands coming up to lightly slap her forehead. “Of course I do, you idiot. How many hints to I have to drop? How hard to I have to flirt? How many times do I have to braid your hair and make you breakfast and talk to you until one in the morning about anything and everything before you realize that of course, of course I love you back. I’ve loved you for so long, and yet you’re still standing here and giving this speech about how I’m ‘stringing you along’ or some shit, like none of that even matters.”

“Jem, I- I didn’t know-“

“Of course you didn’t,” Jemma cuts her off. “Because you’re _thick_. You’re so bloody thick, Daisy, I swear to God. I don’t even know why I love you.”

Daisy’s mouth curls into a grin. “But you love me.”

“Yes,” Jemma says, deflating slightly.

“You love me,” Daisy reiterates.

If Jemma rolled her eyes any harder they’d get stuck that way, Daisy is certain. “Yes.”

“So, what, are we like-?” Daisy motions between them. “Are we girlfriends now?”

Jemma’s hands perch on her hips, and she doesn’t look at Daisy. “I don’t know if I want to be, you’re so infuriating.”

Daisy sidles up to her, hands coming to rest on Jemma’s own. “But you’ll deal with it, ‘cause you love me.”

Jemma glances at her. “I suppose. If I have to.”

“So is that a yes?”

Daisy spots a smile quirking at Jemma’s lips. “Yes.”

Before Jemma can change her mind, Daisy leans in and presses her lips against Jemma’s. Jemma immediately deepens the kiss, and Daisy groans, pulling them flush against each other. Just when Daisy is about to get lost in the rhythm, she gets a hard bite to the lower lip.

“Ow!” she yelps, pulling away, a hand coming up to her lip to make sure it’s not bleeding.

“Serves you right,” Jemma says, turning and sauntering back into the hall. “As my girlfriend, you should make me dinner, I’m starved.”

“It’s like 2am.”

“I’m in the mood for chicken.”

Daisy follows her into the kitchen, grabbing her arm and spinning her around. “Only if you say you love me again.”

When Jemma smiles, it’s genuine. “I love you, Daisy.”

“I love you, too,” Daisy says, grinning.

Jemma pats her arm. “Then prove it. Chicken.”

Daisy laughs. “As you wish.”


	7. Injuries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the anon prompt: "If your taking prompts could you do something with daisy and Simmons where daisy overuses her powers and is seriously injured? Like worse then we have seen yet?" 
> 
> honk honk here comes the angst train. cw's for injuries and blood

It’s no use running anymore—a swarm of Hydra agents closes in in front of them, and they’re surrounded on all sides. Jemma did her best to run, but she’s dragging a dazed, hurt Daisy along with her, and she’s hurt as well, and she just wasn’t fast enough. They’re going to die in this forest, Jemma is certain. They managed to escape from the Hydra base, but they couldn’t get away in the end. She should’ve known better than to hope.

She stops, panting, Daisy pulling heavily at her side. She looks straight ahead at the oncoming agents. (She knows if she turns her head she’ll just see more, and she desperately doesn’t want to know just how outnumbered they really are.)

“Why’d we stop?” Daisy slurs out, her arms shaking where they’re clinging to Jemma.

“Nowhere to go,” Jemma replies.

Slowly, Daisy lifts her head. They hadn’t had an opportunity to clean away the blood from her broken nose and split lip, so her face is a grisly sight. If Jemma had lost any sense of the gravity of this situation, Daisy’s face would’ve quickly righted her mind.

“Nowhere to go,” Daisy confirms quietly. It must’ve been the momentum keeping her going, because without the forward movement she slumps, and sinks to the ground.

Jemma follows her down, keeping her upright. She takes in Daisy as Daisy takes in the agents, sure her own eyes display a dulled sense of panic where Daisy’s show only resignation.

“You know I love you, right?” Jemma asks, each word urgently delivered.

Daisy turns to blink at her, eyes cloudy and struggling for lucidity. “Of course.”

Jemma nods, pushes a kiss against Daisy’s sweaty forehead, the only place it’s not likely to hurt. “Hold on to that,” she says, and then stands, moving between Daisy and the oncoming wave of agents. “Don’t come any closer!” she calls out, trying to sound commanding, not as terrified as she currently feels.

The agents continue their forward march through the trees.

“I’m an Inhuman, too.” It’s a final, desperate attempt, but she has to try something. “I’ll kill you all if you take another step.”

Briefly, the agents pause, and she feels the victory stir something in her bones. But then they press forward again, so she takes a step as well.

“I mean it, I’ll-“

She’ll never quite be able to describe, later on, what it feels like. She knows pain; she’s been tortured twice now, and has stitched up her own wounds. But this feels different. Numb, at first, distant. Like it’s happening in a dream. Then the feeling begins to come back, and she just feels the gushing—blood pumping out of the bullet wound. She hits the ground before the pain really starts, and she hears a scream, and she’s not sure if it’s coming from her or Daisy. Even that seems meaningless, next to the pain. All of it seems meaningless.

“Focus on me,” Daisy says, and Jemma blinks and tries to focus her eyes on Daisy’s own from where Daisy is suddenly curled around her. Her voice is still slurred, but more coherent than it had been a minute ago. “Jemma- Jemma, Sweetheart, just look at me.”

“It hurts,” Jemma whimpers, a cry caught in her throat.

“I know, Baby, I know. Just- Just hold on a little bit longer, okay? I’ll get us out of this.”

“Stand up and put your hands in the air,” one of the Hydra agents says.

Daisy begins to pull herself to her feet, and Jemma blindly reaches up to grab at her.

“Don’t-“ she sobs, “Don’t leave me.”

Daisy gently pushes her hands away, swaying as she stands. She watches the tightening circle of agents, and then looks back down at Jemma.

“I love you,” she says. “Don’t forget that.”

How could Jemma ever forget such a thing? Even now, on the brink of unconsciousness, she couldn’t forget. She could never. But what she’ll especially never forget is the sound that follows. Daisy straightens up as best she can, holds her arms out, and begins to yell. It’s the guttural kind of yell, the war cry, the yell of an injured and cornered animal. It’s the kind of yell you never want to hear out of a person you love. And then the ground shakes, and the trees bow away from them, and one by one, dropping like marionette dolls that have had their strings cut, the Hyrda agents’ bones snap—their spines, judging by the disjointed way they fall—and Jemma feels Death on all sides of her. She watches as the agents fall in waves, as the trees bend and break. Daisy is a hurricane, and Jemma is in the middle of it.

The distinctive sound of bones cracking assaults Jemma’s ears from much closer than she’d like. Daisy’s arms are a deep maroon, and with another _crack_ , the jutting of a bone against skin becomes visible. There’s fresh blood on Daisy’s face, streaming down from her nose, leaking from the corners of her mouth.

No Hydra agents are left standing. Or trees, for that matter, within a hundred yards of them. But still, the ground shakes, and Daisy yells, and Jemma’s blood flows from her stomach.

“Daisy!” she shouts, and like it broke a spell, Daisy collapses to the ground.

And yet, her powers continue. The yell has morphed into loud, angry sobs, ripping forth from her throat and echoing in the air around them. Her arms, broken as they are, can’t support her, and she tips forward until her forehead rests in the dirt.

“Daisy, Daisy,” Jemma murmurs frantically, trying to drag herself up and over to her. She gets about halfway into a sitting position, and then pain blooms fiercely in her stomach, and she falls back with a shout. She watches Daisy through eyes clouded with tears. “Daisy, please, you have to stop. You- You have to- have to …” She blinks heavily, but the darkness encroaches. And, before she can put up a fight, she falls in unconsciousness.

-

When she wakes, the first thing she hears is a voice. It’s murky at first, then grows clearer. May. She’s telling a story, like from a story book, some sort of fantastical tale. Jemma is sure she’s never heard it before, but it feels familiar.

She tries to talk, or open her eyes, but the only thing that draws from her is a groan. May stops, and then the lights above Jemma dim, and a straw is being pushed between her lips.

“Drink,” May says, no room for a ‘no’.

Jemma obeys, and then finally manages to blink her eyes open. She’s in the med bay, and May looks tired.

“What-“ Jemma’s voice is weaker than she was expecting. “What happened?”

“You’ve been out for a few days. How much do you remember?” May asks.

Jemma thinks back, but in her mind is a blank spot. “Hydra,” she distantly recalls. “They got us.”

May nods. “Do you remember anything after that?”

Eyes darting back and forth, Jemma desperately claws at her memories, until finally, she latches on to one. Panic, white hot, fills her chest. “Daisy!” She tries to sit up, but May is there, hands pressing down on her shoulders, holding her to the bed.

“Don’t move,” she commands. “You’ll rip your stitches.”

“I don’t care.” Tears bubble up and drip down Jemma’s face, hiding in her hair. “I don’t care, I have to see her. Where is she?”

May looks over to the other side of the room, and Jemma follows her gaze. They’ve moved another bed in, and Daisy is laying in it, hooked up to all sorts of machines. She’s gaunt, and pale, as pale as she was when she was the one who’d been shot (which would bring up memories for Jemma if she wasn’t so horridly attached to this moment), and both her arms are in casts.

“Tell me she’s going to be okay,” Jemma demands. She turns back to May. “Tell me she’s going to be okay.”

May’s gaze remains on Daisy, and the haunting of her expression reminds Jemma that she’s not the only one who’d be losing if the worst came to it. “We’re not sure,” May admits.

Jemma lets out a sob, and despite what must be a cocktail of drugs in her system, the pain in her stomach (and in her heart) is crystal clear. She bites her lip, trying to hold in another one.

“We’re doing everything we can,” May tells her.

Jemma takes a shaky inhale, nodding. “I know. I know. I just- I can’t lose her.”

May reaches out and takes hold of her hand. “I know.”

Jemma turns back to stare at Daisy. Each heartbeat feels like the pounding of a drum in her chest (she tells herself it’s not a funeral drum she’s feeling). “I have to be with her.”

“You’re not supposed to move yet-“

“Please?” Jemma turns a desperate eye on May. “May, please. I need this.”

May watches her for a long few moments. Jemma knows she knows what this feels like—the desperation. With everything May’s been through, she must know.

May lets go of her hand and grabs a ball of gauze and a bandaid from the bedside table. Holding the gauze against the back of Jemma’s hand, May slips the IV out and quickly secures it down. “Slow,” she warns, helping Jemma sit up by inches.

It takes about ten minutes, but they manage to get Jemma up and out of the bed, and over to Daisy’s bed, with a lot of maneuvering and leaning heavily on May, without ripping Jemma’s stitches. May practically has to lift her up and into Daisy’s bed, lowering her gently onto the covers. It’s tight, but there’s just enough room with Jemma on her side, the guardrail digging painfully against her spine.

“There’s a doctor coming to check on you in an hour, so you have until then.”

Jemma reaches out and catches her hand. “Thank you.”

May nods, and then moves to sit in the seat she was formerly occupying next to Jemma’s bed.

Jemma presses her forehead against Daisy’s shoulder. When Daisy was shot, when she was still Skye and they were both young, Jemma had to imagine her world without Daisy in it. She couldn’t do it then, and she definitely can’t do it now. Jemma’s hand curls into the sheets above Daisy’s stomach, and her mouth trembles, eyes pinching shut.

“Can you-“ she asks out to May, voice wavering, “Can you keep reading?”

It’s an odd request, she knows, but the silence, save for the beeping of machinery and the pounding of her own heart, is hurting her more than the bullet wound is. (That, and she doesn’t want May to hear her crying. She knows she’s meant to be brave now. She’s been brave before, but she’s not sure she can do it now.)

At first there’s no response. But after a few moments, there’s the rustling of pages, and then May’s voice, reading from the book. Jemma doesn’t know where she got it, or who’s it is, what’s obviously a book of fairy tales. But she doesn’t really care, something about May’s voice soothes a little of the worry in Jemma’s chest.

Still, it’s not enough to keep the tears from leaking from her eyes, or the quiet, little sobs from escaping her throat. She tells herself that Daisy is going to be okay, because she has to be, there’s really no other option. None that Jemma could live with.

“Don’t leave me,” Jemma whispers.

The heart monitor beeps steadily onwards.


	8. Jemma the RA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from mercialachesis' prompt: "skimmons university au (bonus for a side tripp/fitz?)? pls thank you! :)"  
> and anon's prompt: "College AU: despite having the same age, Simmons is Daisy/Skye's RA because she is a genius who entered college earlier, and Skye loves making her life hell but she does it bc of a crush (I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense- I just discovered RAs are a thing in the US and I've been dying to see a fic on this!)" 
> 
> this was so silly and fun to write, thank you both! 
> 
> for those who don't know, an RA is a resident assistant, usually someone of college age who lives in the dorms and helps guide the residents

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Jemma says, dropping her bag on the floor as she takes a seat on Daisy’s desk chair, Daisy facing her from the bed. “I was in the lab and my experiment … ran a bit long.”

Daisy raises a finger to hesitantly point. “Are your sleeves charred?”

Jemma’s nose crinkles. “Just a bit. Little accident.”

“But you’re okay?”

“Right as rain,” Jemma confirms. “Bobbi passed along why you called this meeting, but I admit I haven’t gotten a chance to look yet. Let’s see here …” She rifles through her bag, then pulls out a piece of paper. “Okay, so you called this meeting because-“ She stops, eyes darting back and forth between Daisy and the paper.

Daisy just smiles.

Jemma sighs. “Because you’re having roommate troubles.”

“That’s right.”

“Daisy, you live in a single.”

Daisy leans forward, nodding. “And I’m having a lot of trouble with that. I think it’d do me good to have a roommate.” She blinks innocently. “Hey … your room wouldn’t happen to be open, would it?”

Jemma carefully folds the paper, puts it back in her backpack, and leaves the room.

-

“You- You actually called a meeting just to ask that?” Fitz asks, huffing a laugh. He’s leaned back in Trip’s lap as they both play X-box in Fitz’s room, Trip holding his own controller from where his arms are wrapped around Fitz’s middle. The position isn’t very conducive to playing video games, especially a shooter, as they both tend to move around when they’re focused on the combat, but they are, as Daisy says, “annoyingly touchy” and tend to be as close as they can get as long as they can help it.

“I had to try _something_ ,” Daisy laments, laying back on the bed, textbook open and forgotten on her stomach. “I hadn’t seen her in like three days ‘cause she keeps such weird hours. How else was I supposed to see her?”

“You need to woman up and ask her on a proper date,” Trip says, angrily mashing the jump button.

“She’d wouldn’t- ah- wouldn’t say yes,” Fitz cuts in. “She’s very set on ‘proper resident/RA relationships’, that one. No funny business.”

Daisy lets out a long groan. “What am I supposed to do? There’s no winning here.”

“The only thing you can do is wait the year out,” Trip says. “Then, she won’t be your RA anymore, and she can actually say yes.”

“Or-“

Daisy perks up. “Or what?”

Fitz’s grin is a little wicked. “Or you can keep messing with her. She’s gonna wear down eventually.” 

Daisy smiles. “Fitz, you are pure evil. And this is why you’re my best friend.”

Fitz holds up a finger to gesture, then remembers the game and quickly grabs back at his controller. “I maintain that I am Simmons’ best friend, but I- I am on your side in this one.”

“And?” Trip asks, knowing him too well.

Fitz bites out a sigh. “And she keeps dissecting things and leaving them in my- my pristine workspace, and I won’t stand for that.”

Daisy shoves the textbook aside, turning over to prop her chin between her hands. “Okay, so what should I do?”

Fitz pauses the game. “Okay, so here’s the plan-“

-

Jemma opens her door and shuffles down the hallway. It’s five a.m., she’s gotten about three hours of sleep, and now she’s off to the lab again, less than six hours from when she left it. She loves her lab, don’t get her wrong, but sometimes the workload can get to be a little much. She just turned 18, and most kids her age are sleeping off hangovers on a Saturday morning like this, not about to turn in for hour 60 of a 70-hour work week.

So she blames the tiredness, mostly, for why she doesn’t notice the first time she passes it. It takes until after she’s gone to the communal bathroom and is on her way back when she realizes her carefully planned community board has gone awry.

She pauses in front of it, gaping.

Letters carefully cut out of colorful construction paper read across the top: Best Ass Competition 2017. There are photos of celebrities taken from behind pasted all over the board, men and women in tight clothing, all of them with their butts circled in red marker. And then, towards the bottom, the paper letters read ‘Winner:’ above, to Jemma’s horror, a photo of her taken in the lab, leaning down to fetch a beaker. Her own butt, though not really visible through the lab coat, is circled, and scrawled on the photo in unmistakable handwriting are the words ‘I believe’.

Jemma growls, affronted, and stalks off toward Daisy’s room. She doesn’t care about how early it is. That’ll actually be to her benefit—hopefully the monstrosity can be taken down before the other residents see. She bangs on the door, waits, then bangs again, but there’s no answer.

“I know you’re in there, Daisy, and mark my words, that board better be taken down and replaced with the _exact_ board I had up before, or there will be consequences. You have until I get back from work today.”

If she slams the door to her own room a little louder than necessary, then so be it.

-

“Phase one worked just as planned,” Daisy tells Fitz, sitting her breakfast down on the table in the dining hall later that morning. “She was totally pissed. Definitely got her attention.”

Fitz beams. “She does hate it when you mess w-with her stuff.”

Daisy swirls the cereal with her spoon, letting it get a little soggy. “Hey, why did you have that picture, anyway?”

“Don’t question it.” He holds up a hand. “Just enjoy.”

She leans forward. “So what’s phase two?”

He smirks. “May gives you a- a little spending money every week, yeah?”

“Yeah,  why? What do you have planned?”

-

It’s been a few days, the board was replaced with her original one by the time she’d gotten back from work, and she hasn’t seen Daisy. It’s been tentatively peaceful, as much as her busy life can be.

She’s working in the lab, her and Fitz and some of their fellow technicians (all older than them, most in their 30s), when there’s a buzz from the door.

Fitz glances up from his work and over to the door, then to her. “Must be those samples you- you requested.”

She doesn’t really process, at first, the twinkle in his eye, the mirth drawn into the lines of his mouth. She just gets up, and opens the door.

And immediately regrets it, when she’s faced with what’s on the other side.

Four men, dressed in bee costumes.

“Are you Jemma Simmons?” one of them asks.

“Oh god,” she replies.

The man clears his throat, then begins snapping his fingers rhythmically. “One, two, and a one, two three- Won’t you be mine-“ he begins to sing.

“Won’t you be mine-“ the other three sing along.

“Oh god,” Jemma says again. Panicked, she looks behind her. All of the other lab techs are staring, expect for Fitz, who’s shaking with silent laughter. She whips her head back as the men continue to sing, and then, lacking any other plan, slams the door in their face. Fitz just laughs harder.

-

“How was phase two?” Daisy asks that night, dropping her things onto Fitz’s already messy floor, planning on staying the night to avoid confrontation with Jemma.

“Mortifying,” Fitz relays. “And, frankly, hilarious.”

Trip shakes his head. “What you guys are doing to this poor girl isn’t right.”

Daisy holds up her hands. “Hey, if you have a better plan, then be my guest. But until then, this is how things are going.” She turns back to Fitz. “So what’s phase three?”

Fitz gets up from his desk and rummages around in his closet, finally pulling something out and holding it up before her. “How afraid a-are you of heights?”

Daisy taps her finger against her lips. “Depends. Is that a full body harness?”

“It is.”

“And you have it why?”

“F-For reasons.”

Daisy lets out a long breath, thinking, then nods. “Whatever, I’m in.”

-

Jemma stands in front of Daisy’s door, but once again, the other girl isn’t answering. It’s been a week since she saw her last, and she really can’t afford for Daisy’s schemes to get any more elaborate. Or public.

“Daisy! Open up right now!”

“She’s not in there,” Elena says from down the hall, startling Jemma.

“Oh. Do you know where she is?”

Elena shakes her head. “But- Well- She left you a message.”

“Oh no,” Jemma murmurs, eyes slipping shut briefly. “Where?”

“In the lounge.”

“Show me.”

Elena quirks a grin. “Oh, you’ll see it.”

Jemma brushes past her and down the hall, dread growing in her stomach. She unlocks the door to the floor’s lounge, and pushes inside. She stops short, taking in the sight before her.

All the windows in the lounge, all three of them, wall to wall and almost floor to ceiling, are covered in writing. It’s impossible not to notice, the black words blocking out most of the view. She walks forward, looking closer. Over and over again is written: “I <3 Jemma Simmons”, “Will u b my valentine?”, and “Call me ;)”. They must be written a hundred times, each.

Jemma pulls out her phone, hitting ‘1’, then ‘call’. Fitz picks up after two rings.

“Hullo?”

“I need to talk to Daisy.”

“Erm- I don’t know why you think tha-that calling me-“

“Can you just … Just tell her to meet me tomorrow morning. My room. Please?”

Fitz sounds surprisingly meek. “Yeah, sure.”

She hangs up with no further comment, then walks forward and rubs her thumb over one of the windows. As she suspected, the writing (in what she hopes is only dry erase marker) is written on the outside. Six floors up. Somehow. She lets out a sigh.

-

The knock comes at her door at 9 a.m. sharp. She’s already been up for hours, so she’s had a little time to prepare, but she didn’t really expect Daisy any earlier. She’s not exactly a morning bird.

She opens the door, then tilts her head to the side. “Come on in.”

Daisy looks nervous, if not a little excited. “You know, I’ve never actually been in your room before. I tried to, a few times. It’s about how I expected. Very tidy.”

Jemma closes the door behind her. She sits down at her desk, the chair facing the rest of the room. “Sit. We need to talk.”

Daisy looks around, but there’s not another chair, so she just plops herself down on the floor, leaning back against the bed. Looking up at Jemma, eyes bright, she looks almost like a puppy. Jemma tries not to let that distract her.

“You really need to stop this, Daisy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play innocent. You’ve been pulling these schemes all week. And they need to stop.”

Something flashes across Daisy’s face, but she tries to smile through it. “I was just trying to be funny.”

“Well, it’s not funny to me.”

Her smile pulls into a frown. “I didn’t mean to-“

“You know exactly what you meant to do, Daisy,” Jemma chides. “I wasn’t giving you attention, so you were acting like a dick.”

Daisy glances away. “Maybe.”

“Did you not think at all how this would affect me? The board stunt could’ve gotten me fired if one of my superiors had seen it, you embarrassed me in front of all my coworkers-“

“I’m sorry,” Daisy mumbles.

“Well, you should be.” Jemma calms her voice, tugging on the edge of her blouse. “It was stupid, and childish, and, frankly, beneath you.”

“I know.” Daisy covers her face, groaning. “I’m not usually this much of a dick, I swear.”

“I mean what did you think would happen? You’d just continue to wear me down until- What? I’d finally go out with you?”

Daisy peeks out from between her fingers. “Uh- Well, yeah, that was the plan.”

“Well, it was a bloody stupid plan. I already liked you, I don’t see why you thought I’d fall in love with you or something if you acted like an arse.”

“You-“ Daisy drops her hands. “You like me?”

Jemma’s eyes roll. “I thought you were sweet. Emphasis on ‘thought’, I’m not so sure anymore.”

“I just …” Daisy sighs. “I really like you. And I get so nervous that I act stupid. I always do this, ever since I was little. I’m just insecure, and I don’t think that people will like me if I just act like myself. And that’s not fair to you, I know it’s not. But I promise I can be better, if you just give me a chance.”

“I don’t see why I should,” Jemma says honestly. “You haven’t really given me a reason to think you can do better.”

“Fitz likes me. That has to count for something, right?”

“I know he orchestrated this whole little plan with you, so I don’t really think too highly of his opinion at the moment.”

Daisy rises to her knees. “Just- Just one chance. One shot, that’s all I’m asking for. I’ll prove that I’m someone worth liking.”

“I’m still your RA,” Jemma says, “there are rules against this-”

“Then we won’t call it a date! It’ll just be hanging out, no strings attached. Please? I can- uh-“ Daisy snaps her fingers. “I’ll take you bowling!”

Jemma’s nose crinkles. “I don’t know how to bowl.”

“Awesome, neither do I. We can look like fools together. It’ll be great, I promise.”

Jemma’s eyes rise to the ceiling. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Is that a yes?”

Jemma sighs. “Fine, yes.”

Daisy jumps up, fists pumping in the air. “Yes! Sweet. Sweet, sweet, sweet. Okay, how about tomorrow? Six o’clock?”

Jemma shakes her head in disbelief that she’s gotten herself into this situation. “Six o’clock.”

Daisy grins, backing out of the room. “Okay. See you then.”

“Yes, I suppose I will.”

Daisy skitters out of the room, down the hall, and into her own room. She immediately pulls out her cell phone, dialing Fitz’s number.

“Well?” he answers. “How’d it go?”

“Phase Four: Honesty Edition was a success.”

Fitz cheers. “Are- Are you taking her out?”

“Tomorrow. We’re going bowling.”

Fitz laughs. “That’s going to be a disaster.”

“I know, right? I can’t wait.”

“Oh- That’s her on the other line now. Gotta go.”

“I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow. Talk later.”

“Bye.”

-

Jemma claps a hand to her mouth, trying to hold in her laughter. She watches as Daisy does what she calls a ‘backwards granny bowl’, bowling facing the wrong way and shoving the ball down the lane through her spread legs. Daisy tips over, watching the ball’s progress through her legs. It makes it less than halfway down the lane, then falls into the gutter.

Daisy raises her arms victoriously. “Almost halfway!”

Jemma can’t help but laugh. Maybe giving her a chance wasn’t such a bad idea after all.


	9. a few surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from the anon prompt: "If you're still doing Skimmons prompts could you do a high school AU where Skye and Jemma are -and have been for a while- dating and they start to have sex at Skye's foster home (no smut needed just to let the audience know they are) and May, Skye's current foster mother walks in and Just walks back out. Skye freaks out and Jemma has to console her. (Turns out May has a girlfriend of her own)" 
> 
> HAPPY FEMSLASH FEB EVERYONE

 

“I think I’m going to run away.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Skye, don’t be so dramatic.”

“No, I’m serious.” She’s got an odd look about her: mouth slightly agape, eyes far away, the left one twitching just a bit. “It’s the only course of action.”

“So, May caught us having sex. It’s not that bad.”

“Jemma.” Skye’s gaze finds Jemma. She slaps a hand on the bed to emphasize. “Jemma. Do you even hear what just came out of your mouth?”

“This happens all the time, Skye.” Jemma’s nose scrunches. “Probably.”

“To _who_?” Skye flops dramatically back on the bed, covering her face.

Jemma is sat on Skye’s desk chair, now fully clothed. They felt putting a little distance between them was for the best, considering what had just happened. “To ’whom’,” Jemma corrects absentmindedly.

“Oh my god,” Skye groans. “Look, I’m just- I have to run away, okay? I can’t face her after this.”

“We’re not children, Skye. We’re 17, almost adults. Seventeen year olds sometimes have sex. May knows this. I really don’t think this is going to be Earth-shattering to her, just awkward. And it’s not like we don’t love each other.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t even know you’re my girlfriend. Shit, she doesn’t even know I like girls.”

“Well … I think she knows now.”

Skye sits up abruptly, face ashen. “What if she’s not okay with it?”

Jemma furrows her brows. “Skye—”

“Seriously, what if she, like- I don’t know, what if she’s not cool with it, and she sends me back?”

“Hey.” Jemma quickly moves over to the bed, sitting beside Skye and placing a hand on her thigh. “This is May we’re talking about. It’s not going to be an issue.”

Anxiety building, Skye gets up off the bed and begins pacing. “No, I know it’s May, that’s why I’m worried. Because, like, she’s awesome, right? She’s been great. This whole thing has been great. Best home I’ve ever had. Which means that something _has_ to go wrong. Because, yes, this is May we’re talking about, but it’s also _me_ we’re talking about. Which means that this isn’t going to work out. It never works out.”

Jemma watches her girlfriend pace, a line of sympathy between her brows. “I know that’s the pattern, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t find somewhere that sticks. You’ve had your share of shitty homes, yes, but you’ve found someplace good here, Skye. And May isn’t going to send you away for this.”

“No, she is.” Resignation is set into Skye’s features. “I screwed up, and I’m going to lose everything.”

“Okay,” Jemma sighs out, rising from the bed. She stands in front of Skye, stopping the tread she’s wearing into the carpet, and takes her face between her hands. Skye stares back at her, eyes watering. “Everything is going to be fine, but you’re going to make yourself sick with worry if you keep on this line of thought. Talking to me isn’t helping, you need to go talk to May.”

Skye’s face crumples. “Don’t make me.”

Jemma leans forward and presses a firm kiss against Skye’s lips. “It’ll be fine.” She goes to pull away, but Skye grabs at her, clinging.

“One more kiss, in case this goes horribly wrong and she sends me away and I never see you again.”

Jemma rolls her eyes, but obliges. The kiss is longer than the last, and Jemma runs her thumbs over Skye’s cheeks, hot under her fingers. Finally, she pulls away. “It’ll be fine,” she repeats.

“Yeah.” Skye blows out a shaky breath. “Right. It’ll be fine. Just gonna talk.”

Jemma nods. “Just talking.” She slips into her jacket as she toes on her flats, then picks up her purse. “Call me as soon as you’re done.”

Skye’s sat back down on the bed, holding herself lightly. She nods.

Jemma smiles at her, then leaves the room. Skye can hear her and May exchange a few words, muffled through her bedroom door, before the front door of the apartment opens and shuts. Skye takes a deep breath, and then slinks into the kitchen.

May is sitting at the table, stirring honey into her tea. Skye can tell from the smell. It’s almost sweet enough to make her nauseous, and only partly because she knows May only takes honey in her tea when she’s stressed. Skye stalls in the doorway, fists clenching, but May doesn’t look up at her.

“Can I sit?” she asks after a moment.

May nods toward the chair across from her, and Skye takes it. For a moment they’re both silent, just the sound of the spoon clanking the sides of the cup filling the room.

“Would you like some tea?” May eventually offers.

“Sure. I mean- yes, please.”

May gets up to pour it, and Skye slumps in her chair. May can’t be that mad if she’s still offering tea, right? Or is it just her way of easing Skye into a hard conversation?

May sets the cup in front of her, and Skye accepts it gratefully. She blows on it, then takes a sip. It’s not her favorite taste, but tea drinking is basically a requirement in the May household. Silence falls again, both of them drinking quietly. The anxiety begins to buzz in Skye’s chest.

She waits until she can’t stand it any longer. “Jemma’s my girlfriend,” she blurts out. “And I know I never told you I like girls, but I do. So … yeah. If you’re not okay with that—”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”

Skye is glad May cut her off, because she wasn’t sure how she was going to end that sentence. But the odd tilt to May’s response, the extra emphasis on the _I_ , gives her pause. “W-Well …” Skye struggles to find something to say. “I just mean, like- A lot of the older generation—”

May raises a brow.

“Not that you’re _old_ \- I didn’t mean—” Skye sighs, and bites her tongue. “I just didn’t know if you’d be cool with it.”

May blinks at her, her eyebrows drawn together in as much confusion as Skye’s ever seen. “You’ve met Victoria.”

Now it’s Skye’s turn to be confused. “The manager at the kwoon? What about her?”

“Well, she’s my- We’re—” May pauses, taking a sip of tea, and as she brings the cup back down Skye realizes that she was hiding a smirk behind it. “You didn’t know she’s my girlfriend?”

Skye’s tea splutters out of her mouth and back into the cup. “She’s _what?_ ”

May lets out a quiet chuckle. “I thought it was obvious.”

Skye gapes. “How- How was that obvious? You never like, kissed her or anything. Have you ever even touched her in front of me? I mean, you talk about her more than you do your other friends, but I just thought- Oh my _god_. I cannot believe this. We’ve both been hiding girlfriends from each other.”

“ _I_ have not been hiding mine. You’re just unobservant.”

Skye laughs, a knot in her chest loosening. “Wait, if you’re not stressed about the ‘me liking girls’ thing, why are you drinking your tea with honey?”

May raises an eyebrow. “I just walked in on my daughter having sex, I think I’m owed a little honey.”

“Yeah, that’s … that’s fair.” Skye tries not to smile, knowing it’s inappropriate for the topic at hand, but May calling her her daughter never fails to make Skye feel loved. Like she belongs somewhere, finally. “And you’re … you’re not mad?”

“You’re almost an adult, Skye, it’s up to you to make these kinds of decisions for yourself. Decisions about your own body, and who you share it with. I can’t say that was ever something I was expecting to see, but … there’s a lot of things about being a mother I wasn’t expecting. So, no, I’m not mad.”

Skye grins. “So you totally don’t hate me enough to hit me if I suggest we watch a trashy romcom tonight?”

May sighs, rolling her eyes. “If I say no, are you going to whine about it?”

“Relentlessly.”

May isn’t looking at her, but there’s a hint of a smile around her mouth. “Fine.”

Skye gets up, rounds the table, and plants a kiss on May’s cheek. “You’re the best.” She goes to leave the room. “I’ll come out when I’ve finished my homework.”

“Skye,” May calls, stopping her before she enters her bedroom. She waits until Skye turns around to look at her. “I’m happy for you,” she says quietly, but earnestly. “Jemma is a good kid.”

Skye’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Yeah. She makes me happy.”

“You deserve it.”

“Does Victoria make you happy?”

May nods. “Yeah. She does.”

“Good. You deserve it, too.”

May turns back to her tea, looking pleased, and Skye ducks into her room. She sighs as the door shuts, relief pouring out of her. She flops onto her bed and picks up her phone, dialing Jemma’s number from memory. Jemma picks up on the second ring.

“How’d it go?”

“We totally just got May’s blessing.”


	10. sick fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from anon's prompt: "A skimmons prompt if you want one :) Workaholic Jemma Simmons ends up sick on Christmas Eve but she still wants to do all the things to make Christmas special for Daisy since Daisy has never really had a 'proper' Christmas."   
> and buskidburgade's prompt: "concept: bioquake established relationship and Jemma takes a turn being the patient" 
> 
> happy christmas in february :)

She really was doing very well at hiding it, she thought. They might be able to make it through the whole holiday without Daisy finding out. And really, Jemma wasn’t _that_ sick, it was nothing to worry about. Not even a proper flu, really. Just a bug. That’s what she was calling it, a bug.

Totally under the radar. That is, until they pulled the gingerbread cookies out of the oven, and the smell hit Jemma like a tidal wave. Her stomach rolled dangerously, tears pricking her eyes. But she smiled through it, and sat the tray on the table for them to start decorating the cookies.

Daisy picked one up merrily, and started decorating it with the bag of icing she held.

“How old is this icing?” Daisy asked after a moment, nose scrunching. “It’s kind of chunky.”

Chunky. What an awful, awful word, Jemma thought. She tried not to picture it in her mind but- too late. She shot up from the table with a mumbled “excuse me” and dashed from the room.

Okay, so maybe the cat was out of the bag when Daisy found her puking in the bathroom. But, honestly, it wasn’t her fault. Nausea and ‘chunky’ never mixed well.

Daisy scooted down the wall and sat behind her, running a hand up and down Jemma’s back. Jemma’s hair was already in a ponytail, so that was taken care of.

“You could’ve told me you’re sick,” Daisy said, voice laced with sympathy.

“How’d you guess?” Jemma muttered back ruefully, still hunched over the bowl. She reached up blindly and flushed.

“Well, you’ve been pale all day. Paler than usual, I mean.”

Jemma shot a glare over her shoulder.

“And you get overly cheerful when you’re not feeling well, trying to distract people.”

Jemma leaned her head against the cool seat, trying not to think about how unsanitary it was. “I just wanted you to have a good holiday.”  

“If I’m with you, it’s a good holiday. No matter what we’re doing.”

“Ugh.”

“What?” Daisy asked defensively. “I’m serious.”

“No one wants to deal with a sick person during their holiday. That’s just a fact.”

“Yeah, but you’re not just ‘some sick person’. You’re my girlfriend, and I like taking care of you.”

Jemma grabbed at the toilet paper roll, ripping some sheets free and blowing her nose. “I’m all gross. You can’t possibly enjoy this.”

“Well, I don’t enjoy you _being sick_. I just- I don’t know, I’ve never really had anyone to take care of before. It’s … kind of nice. Reminds me that I’m not alone anymore.”

“And celebrating Christmas Eve properly wouldn’t have done that?”

“It’s not the same.”

Jemma sighed, leaning her head on her hand. “You’re so odd.”

“Absolutely.” Daisy grinned.

“You promise you’re not just saying this to make me feel less guilty?”

“I promise. Now, come on. Tell me what I can do. What would make you feel better?”

“You don’t have to do this. I can manage fine on my own.”

“I know.” Daisy’s thumb stroked circles on Jemma’s shoulder blade. “But I want to do this.”

Jemma blinked slow, her vision swimming. “Well, I have been freezing all day. And … I may have thrown up everything we’ve eaten today.”

“Well, one of those I can fix right now.” Daisy pulled off the sweater she was wearing—oversized, and very thick, featuring a scene of reindeers pulling a sleigh through the snow—and carefully slipped it over Jemma’s head. Jemma pulled her arms through the sleeves slowly, and wrapped her arms around herself, savoring the warmth.

“Won’t you be cold?”

“I’ll grab something else once I get you settled on the couch. Come on, let’s get you up.”

Jemma wasn’t expecting for Daisy to scoop her up off the ground carefully, an arm behind her shoulders and one under her knees. She clung to Daisy’s tank top.

“I’m too heavy. And perfectly capable of walking, thank you.”

“One, you weigh like three pounds. Three and a half, tops. Two, ever since the Quake thing, and since I’ve been training with May again, I’m kind of ripped, if you haven’t noticed. You’re not too heavy. And three, I know you’re capable of walking, but you don’t have to, so you’re not gonna.” Daisy stuck her tongue out, as if that would win the argument.

Jemma just sighed, leaning her head on Daisy’s shoulder as Daisy carried her into the living room and settled her on one of the couches facing the TV. The base was mostly empty for the holidays, so there was no competition for it. Daisy collected all of the blankets from the closet, draped the warmest one over Jemma, and made sure the rest were in reaching distance.

Daisy squatted down in front of her, and Jemma gazed at her in adoration. Daisy smiled. “I’m gonna go grab a sweater, and then, if you think you can keep it down, I warm up a mean chicken noodle soup.”

Jemma nodded slightly. “That sounds good.”

“Alright.” Daisy leaned forward to press a light kiss against Jemma’s forehead, and then left.

It seemed like only a minute had passed before Daisy was back, a hand pressed against Jemma’s forehead, so either Daisy had run to her room and back, or Jemma had dozed off. With Daisy, either of them were likely.

“You’re pretty warm,” Daisy said. “Do you have a headache?”

“Kind of achy all over,” Jemma admitted.

“I’m going to get you some Advil. If you can keep that down, I’ll warm up the soup.”

Daisy rushed off to the adjoining kitchen, and then was back with two Advil and a glass of water. Jemma swallowed down the pills, and Daisy sat the glass on the coffee table in front of the couch.  

“How ‘bout a movie?”

“Sure.”

Daisy moved over to the team’s movie collection, scanning the shelves. She turned a critical eye back to Jemma, looked over the DVDs some more, and then plucked two from their spots. She held them up for inspection. “ _Holy Grail_ or _The Meaning of Life_?”

Jemma pursed her lips, thinking. “ _The Meaning of Life_ has that vomiting scene.”

“ _Holy Grail_ it is.”

Daisy inserted the DVD into the DVD player, and slipped the other back in its spot. She turned the TV on, and kept the volume on low so it wouldn’t worsen Jemma’s headache.

Jemma scooted against the back of the couch, slumping wearily against the pillows. She expected Daisy to sit beside her, but instead she plopped onto the coffee table, picked up Jemma’s feet, and slipped her shoes off.

“What are you doing?” Jemma asked.

“Giving you a foot rub. You said you were achy.”

Jemma felt tears rise to her eyes, and she blinked them away. “Daisy, you don’t have to do that. You’re doing more than enough already.”

Daisy watched her for a moment, and then started rubbing Jemma’s feet. Jemma tried not to moan at how nice it felt. “I know I don’t have to. But, Jemma … you do so much for me. And put up with so much from me. I just- You deserve to be taken care of, and to be shown how much you’re loved. Let me do this for you. Let me make you feel as loved as you make me feel all the time.”

Jemma worked against a lump in her throat. “Okay.”

Daisy gave a small smile, but didn’t look up at Jemma, her full focus on the massage. “Good.”

The movie began, and Jemma tilted her head against the back of the couch so she could watch. She sighed happily. It was odd, feeling so bad and so good at the same time. But leave it to Daisy to make a potentially crappy day into a good one.

Daisy continued her ministrations for a good, long while, until Jemma was fully relaxed, feeling boneless. Then she got up and started warming up the soup. Rather than turn her stomach, it smelled amazing, and Jemma ate it hungrily, having to keep in mind to pace herself. She was disappointed when her bowl was empty, but Daisy just got up and warmed up another can.

After she was done eating, Daisy washed out the bowl, and Jemma tried not to miss her presence next to her so terribly. But Daisy was back quickly, and she patted her lap when she sat down.

Jemma peered at her curiously.

“It’s okay if you fall asleep,” Daisy told her quietly. “You need the rest.”

Slowly, Jemma leaned down until her head was in Daisy’s lap. Daisy carefully pulled the band out of Jemma’s hair, and started stroking her hand through the brown strands. Jemma closed her eyes in bliss.

“How are you feeling?” Daisy asked.

“Good,” Jemma replied honestly.

“Yeah?”

Jemma blinked up at her, smiling. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Sorry I ruined Christmas Eve. I know you never really used to get proper holidays, I wanted to make this special for you.”

Daisy shook her head, fingers brushing over Jemma’s cheek. “You didn’t ruin anything. I still got to spend time with you, and that’s good enough for me. And as for all the Christmas stuff … we’ll just delay it till you’re better. Do it proper then.”

“We’re still opening presents in the morning,” Jemma argued. “I’m not waiting any longer to see you open mine.”

Daisy chuckled. “Okay, that works for me.”

Jemma nodded decisively, and then closed her eyes again, snuggling closer to Daisy. Daisy combed her fingers through Jemma’s hair until she was sure she was asleep.

“Love you,” Daisy whispered.

“Love you too,” came the sleepy, mumbled response.

Daisy smiled. It wasn’t such a bad holiday after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i AM still taking skimmons prompts if yall have more! so dont feel shy sending them to my tumblr at buckysbears


	11. post s3 msf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from anon's prompt: "One of the two (or even both!) of them (skimmons that is) is avoiding getting medical attention after getting pretty roughed up during a mission" 
> 
> takes place post the season 3 mid season finale, after jemma gets tortured 
> 
> sorry if this looks a little similar to some of the other stuff i've written about the post-msf, if yall have read those, but its all stuff jemma needed to hear dammit !

The knock on her door is light, almost playful, a quick _rap tap tap_ obviously made with both fists. Jemma sits on her bed, face blank, not sure if she’s even in a state of mind to answer. If she can talk to anyone right now. For a moment she doesn’t move, just stares at the back of the door. She doesn’t know who’s on the other side, but she can’t think of anyone she particularly wants to see. Not because she doesn’t love them all, but because she doesn’t know how she’ll be able to pull herself together long enough to keep up a conversation. She just doesn’t have the energy.

The knock comes again, more hesitant. Jemma sighs, weary, and carefully scoots off the bed. The vestiges of her polite upbringing tell her she at least has to answer to send them away. It would be rude to just ignore it. Of course, she could always say she was asleep. It is late enough for that to be plausible, and after the day she’s had no one would fault her for it. But it would be a lie, and though she’s gotten better at it the past few years, she still doesn’t like doing it.

She can’t quite manage an expression as she pulls the door open, and the surprise shows on Daisy’s face as she’s met with it. But Daisy quickly pulls back into a sheepish smile.

“Just thought I’d come check on you,” she says, hovering in the doorway. “Fitz wanted to, but he’s got that concussion, and Bobbi’s watching him like a hawk. Just wanted to see if you needed anything.”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Jemma replies shortly. So maybe the ‘not rude’ thing couldn’t be circumvented after all. At least she tried.

“Oh.” Daisy blinks. “Well, do you want to talk about anything?”

“Not particularly.”

“So … you’re fine?”

“Right as rain.”

Daisy’s eyes narrow, watching Jemma closely. It’s obvious she doesn’t believe her, but Jemma’s not sure there’s anything she could do about that. Let Daisy think what she wants, as long as she leaves Jemma alone.

“Was that all?” Jemma asks, anxious to get back to her lonesome.

“Can I come in?”

Jemma bites back a sigh. She glances behind her at the enticingly empty room. “I was actually about to go to bed—”

“Just for a minute,” Daisy interrupts.

Unsure how to get out of it, Jemma gives a short nod, and inches back from the door. Daisy scoots past her, then stands in the middle of the room, looking over Jemma’s pictures, her shelves, even though she knows exactly what she’ll find there. Jemma shuts the door behind her, and then just waits.

“I was really worried about you,” Daisy says, without turning to look back at her.

“Yeah,” is all Jemma manages. Briefly, her hand flits over her aching ribs, and then drops.

Daisy heaves out a sigh, and when she turns around there are tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Something tugs in Jemma’s chest, but she pushes it back. She can’t afford to feel anything right now, lest it all come spilling out. And that would be messy. Daisy doesn’t need to deal with that.

“I just—” Daisy says, and then surges forward to catch Jemma up in a hug.

At first the hug is light, and Jemma has no problem resting her hands on Daisy’s back, not really committing, but hopefully not in a noticeable way. But then Daisy squeezes her tighter, and Jemma can’t help her sharp inhalation, because _ow_.

Daisy pulls back immediately. “Hey, are you okay? That sounded like a pain gasp.”

Jemma tries as hard as she can to smile. “I’m fine.”

“You really don’t seem fine. Tell me where it hurts.”

“I’m really—”

“Is it your ribs?”

Daisy hands splays—albeit gently—over Jemma’s ribcage, and Jemma can’t stop herself. She jumps back from the touch, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Daisy’s voice is aiming for reassuring, Jemma is sure, but it doesn’t land. There’s too much worry. “I won’t touch, I promise. But … can I see?”

Jemma’s lip trembles.

“I’m going to check, okay? I’m going to pull your shirt up just a little.”

Jemma doesn’t respond, nor does she open her eyes, so Daisy reaches forward, lightly grabs the end of Jemma’s shirt, and pulls up. Jemma can tell when Daisy sees—the bruises. The breath gets all strangled in her throat.

“Shit, Jem,” Daisy breathes. “What the fuck did they do to you?”

Something breaks in Jemma’s chest, and she can’t help the sob that spills out of her, no matter how it hurts. But the pain makes her cry out again, and then she can’t stop it, the breaking completely. She stands in the middle of her room and she breaks down, tears smearing on her cheeks, breaths coming too fast and in big gulps, her whole body shaking. Daisy moves forward and gathers her up, careful not to touch her ribs, one hand on Jemma’s hip and the other tangling in her hair.

“Oh, Jemma,” Daisy murmurs.

Jemma clings back desperately, fisting her hands in Daisy’s shirt. Her ribs are on fire from how much she’s jarring them with her sobs, but she can’t stop. She couldn’t stop any of this.

“I- I—” She doesn’t know where exactly she was going, but even this she can’t get out. She just cries, and Daisy leads Jemma’s head to the crook of her neck, pressing her cheek against Jemma’s hair.

“You don’t have to say anything, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Jemma manages.

“Don’t be. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Especially not to me.”

Jemma clings tighter. She’s sure Daisy can feel the heat that’s radiating from her stomach through their shirts, it burns that much. Her face is burning, too, the tears hot on her cheeks. But Daisy doesn’t seem to mind, she just strokes her thumb over Jemma’s hip, cards her fingers through Jemma’s hair.

Jemma cries for a while, and eventually her breath chokes in her throat, and for a moment she can’t breathe.

Daisy drops her hand to press between Jemma’s shoulder blades. “Breathe, Jemma. Deep breath.”

“I—” Still, the breath won’t come to her.

Daisy presses a kiss to Jemma’s hair. “I know you can do this. Come on, just one deep breath. Breathe with me.”

Daisy takes a deep breath, her chest flush with Jemma’s, so Jemma can feel the deep inhale. She exhales, breath ghosting over Jemma’s neck. Again, she pulls in a long breath, and this time Jemma is able to breathe with her, though not as deep a breath as Daisy takes.

“Good,” Daisy praises.

She pulls back and rests her forehead against Jemma’s, raising both hands to cup Jemma’s face, wiping away tears with her thumbs. Jemma untangles her hands from Daisy’s shirt and grabs onto her wrists instead.

“You’re okay now, Jemma,” Daisy says, though it sounds like she’s saying it to reassure herself just as much. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Can’t they always?” Jemma asks, the first full sentence she’s been able to get out in a while.

“Nah. You know why?”

Jemma shakes her head slowly, their foreheads moving against each other.

“Because you’ve got me. And I’m going to protect you. And I can, ‘cause I have superpowers.”

Jemma huffs a wet laugh, her grip on Daisy’s wrists tightening.

“I’m making you a promise, though, Jemma.” Daisy pulls back, leveling her with a serious look. “They’ll have to go through me before they ever touch you again.”

“You don’t have to promise that, Daisy.”

“Too late, ‘cause I did. They ever get near you again, I’m kicking their asses to next Tuesday.”

Jemma tries for a smile, but it’s weak. Guilt, unplaced, tears at her like a wild beast from deep within her gut. “I don’t want you to put yourself in danger.”

“Well … it’s kind of my job. But even if it wasn’t, I’d still do it. I’d do anything for you.”

Fresh tears roll down Jemma’s cheeks and over Daisy’s fingers. Jemma looks away. “I can’t ask you to—”

“You’re not asking. This is all me. I’m going to do it whether or not you approve.”

“Daisy—”

“Jemma,” Daisy cuts her off, stern and concerned. “Of course I’m going to do anything for you. Of course I’m going to protect you. I love you. So much. I know you can understand that.”

Jemma’s lip trembles dangerously. “I just don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me.”

“Believe me, I know how that feels.” Daisy’s fingers curl on her cheeks. “But you have to know it’s not your fault.”

“It is, though.”

“No, it’s not.” Daisy’s voice is firm.

“I just can’t believe that.”

“Then I’ll believe it for you.”

Jemma wets her lips, looking down. “Okay.”

“I’m serious. Whatever you can’t carry, you give to me, and I’ll help you carry it. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Jemma’s eyes snap back up to Daisy’s, but Daisy looks serious. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I- I’ll try.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Daisy wipes the last of the tears off Jemma’s cheeks, and leans forward to press a lingering kiss against her forehead. When she pulls back, she asks, “Have you gotten looked at by a doctor yet?”

Jemma shakes her head.

“Okay, let’s go get you checked out.”

“No,” Jemma says fearfully. “Can we- Just- Please, not tonight. I- I can’t. Not tonight.”

Daisy watches her carefully, and eventually nods. “First thing in the morning, though.”

Jemma releases a relieved breath. “Sure.”

“You must be exhausted. You want to try to sleep?”

Jemma casts a glance at the bed. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to.”

“Well, let’s at least get you lying back comfortably. Come on.”

Daisy walks over to the bed, and stacks the pillows up. She hums thoughtfully, then makes toward the door.

Jemma catches her arm before she can leave. “Don’t go,” she says, desperately, and then catches herself, calming her voice. “Please.”

Daisy gives her a little smile. “I was just gonna get some pillows from my room.”

“Oh.” Jemma feels the blush rise to her cheeks. “Right. Sorry.”

Daisy reaches out and squeezes her hand. “I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

It feels silly, childish, but Jemma still asks, “Promise?”

After only a moment of hesitation, Daisy kisses her cheek. “As long as you need me, I’ll be here. Promise.”

With that, Daisy leaves, but Jemma knows she’ll be back. She may not be okay, but she knows Daisy will see to it that she’s taken care of. She trusts that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still taking prompts :)


	12. the breakup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from imperfectlychaotic's prompt: atlantis by seafret 
> 
> THE ANGSTY BREAK UP FIC THAT ONLY SARAH WAS ASKING FOR. ENJOY

“Were you even going to tell me?”

She watches Jemma’s hands still, the shirt halfway to the suitcase. Daisy wavers in the doorway, partly from the alcohol, partly because of the shock of the sight before her. It looks like most of Jemma’s things are already packed, the dresser drawers all open and empty. She’s just got the blouses from the closet left to do.

Jemma turns around slowly, hands balling to fists at her side, then smoothing out against her legs. “Figured you’d find out if you bothered to come home.”

“Well—” Daisy lifts her arms, showcasing her presence. “I’m here.”

“I can see that.”

Daisy waits, nausea rolling in her stomach. “Well, are you going to say anything, or is this supposed to speak for itself?”

Jemma blows out a breath. “I’m not sure what to say, honestly.”

Daisy’s arms fall. “How about ‘why are you leaving’? That ought to be a fun one.”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Irritation builds in her chest (because that’s easier. It’s easier to be angry than to feel anything else). She doesn’t mind letting it show on her face. “Really? That’s all you’re giving me?”

Jemma, for her part, looks a little angry, too. “Fine? You want an answer?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Then how about, I can’t keep living my life just waiting, every day, for the moment you choose to run again? How about, I can’t keep watching you live your life with that look in your eye like anything and everything is going to tip you off the edge. I can’t love you every day when it seems like you’re waiting, just _waiting_ , for me to do something wrong, so you have an excuse to self-destruct. I can’t live with that kind of pressure on me, Daisy. I shouldn’t have to live my life scared to breathe wrong because it might set you off. You act like you’re here, you pretend you’re all in, but under your skin I can see that urge—to run, to isolate.”

Daisy’s hand curls into a fist. “You’re leaving me for him, aren’t you?”

Jemma’s mouth pops open, eyes finding the ceiling, then glaring back at Daisy (Daisy is a little glad that she got a reaction—she’d been hoping for one, drunkenly, spitefully, just in retribution for Jemma springing this whole thing on her). “Why does this have to be about him? Why does it always have to be about him? I’m leaving you for _me_ , Daisy. Have you not listened to a word I said?”

“You’re blaming me?” Daisy asks, one hand rising to rub at her numb mouth. “For all of this? Really? You know what, fuck you—”

“Daisy—”

“-No, you think I don’t know what you’re saying? You think I can’t see it in myself? Well, I can. I do. And maybe you just don’t care to see it, but it’s not exactly easy for me. I’m struggling. A lot. More and more each day, it feels like. And I _need you_ , Jemma. I fucking need you right now, and you’re using that very thing as the reason you’re going to leave?”

“Don’t you dare,” Jemma says, raising one finger to point, “don’t you _dare_ try to make me feel guilty for this. For trying to take care of myself, for once in my goddamn life. You’re the one who told me I need to learn how to put myself first, and now you’re going to use that to guilt trip me?”

Daisy turns a disbelieving half-circle, even though, yeah, maybe she deserved that. “This isn’t a guilt trip, Jemma, Jesus. I’m trying to open up to you about this—”

“Why now?” Jemma asks angrily. “Why now, after you can already see I’m packing my bags? Why now, after it’s already too late?”

“It doesn’t have to be too late—”

“Yes it does!” she shouts, and then, quieter: “It has been for a while, I think.”

“And yet you never said anything?” Daisy starts, chest burning. “You never bothered to bring it up? You just let it sit and fester and now you’re going to act like you’re the victim for never speaking up when you saw a problem?”

“I’m not trying to act like a victim, Daisy, I’m just trying to take care of myself. But you have to see that you’re not blameless in this. It’s not my responsibility to fix your problems for you—”

“I’m not asking you to—”

“It feels like you are. It feels like you’re blaming _me_ for _you_ being withdrawn. If you wanted to talk about it you would’ve talked, but instead you’ve been pulling away from me, from the team, you’ve been drinking—”

“Don’t bring that into this.”

“-you’ve been acting recklessly on missions. And I’m sick of it! I’m sick of watching you tear all the good things in your life away one by one. I’m not going to stick around and watch you do it. You don’t want me, I’m not going to stay.”

“I do want you,” Daisy says, practically pleads, hot tears flooding her eyes without her permission. “I need you, I’ve already said that—”

“Then you should’ve fucking acted like it! Instead you’ve been holding onto me with one hand and reaching out for a passing train with the other. You want to talk about being a victim? I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to leave me behind.”

“I need help—”

“Then you should’ve asked for it. But I’m not your caretaker, you don’t get to blame me for you not getting help sooner. I won’t let you blame me for that.”

Jemma’s right, she knows, but she doesn’t want to admit it. Because she’s drunk, and she’s hurt, and those are never a good combination. She looks away, then looks back. “So, what? You’re just giving up on us?”

“I’m giving up on the idea that I have to wait around for you to change,” Jemma says, huffing out a sigh. “That I have to be here in order for that to happen. If you want to change, you’ll do it on your own time.”

“Everything we’ve been through together … you’re just throwing that all away.”

“I’m not,” Jemma argues. “It’s not gone, Daisy, everything we’ve been through, it hasn’t disappeared. I just … can’t go on like this. But we’ll still see each other, we’ll still be in the same circles. It’s not like we’ll be gone from each other’s lives.”

“’Still in the same circles’,” Daisy repeats, shaking her head. “That’s what you’re consoling me with? Like that won’t make it worse?” She looks away, running her tongue over her front teeth, which are sour and sticky. “Whatever, I’m going to go get a drink.”

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

“Yeah, but you don’t really get an opinion on that anymore, do you?”

Daisy turns and walks away, makes her way to the kitchen, flings open the freezer, and pulls out the vodka. Her vision blurs as she pours it into a glass, and she’s not really sure why. Tears, she realizes belatedly, as one of them drips off her chin and lands on the rim of the glass. She’s crying. Dammit. How fucking pathetic …

She hears Jemma move into the kitchen, but doesn’t turn to look at her. She takes a sip, the pure alcohol burning her throat.

“Do you think this isn’t hurting me, too?” Jemma asks.

“Oh, like a part of you isn’t loving this,” Daisy shoots back over her shoulder, then turns around, eyes blazing. “Like you don’t love that you’re finally hurting me back.”

Jemma looks taken aback, mouth agape, eyebrows scrunching together. “Do you really think I’m capable of that?” she asks, a genuine question, the hurt seeping into her tone.

Daisy falters. “No,” she admits. She looks away. “It’s just … easier to act like you’re the bad guy here. Like this isn’t my fault.”

“Daisy …”

“I just—” Her face crumples, and she hates herself for it. Hates when she chokes out a sob. Hates it when the words that come out of her mouth next are, “I’m scared.”

Jemma moves forward, then stops herself, looking conflicted.

“I’m scared to lose this,” Daisy continues, not able to stop herself. “Scared to lose you. Lose me. Everything is falling apart, I know it is, I can feel it, I’ve felt it coming for a while, and … I don’t think it’s going to stop this time.” Another sob escapes her, and she presses a hand to her mouth to hold them back. “It’s not gonna stop and I … I don’t know how to be okay right now.”

Something wins out in Jemma, and she rockets forward to pull Daisy into a hug. Daisy collapses against her, burying her face and a string of sobs into Jemma’s neck.

“I know you’re not okay,” Jemma says, one hand coming up to tangle in Daisy’s hair. “I know you’re not, and you don’t know how badly I wish I could help. But there’s nothing I can do as long as you’re on this path, and I don’t have it in me to keep trying.”

“I’d give up on me, too,” Daisy whispers.

“That’s not what this is,” Jemma assures her. “Please, Daisy, you have to understand how hard it is for me watching you—”

“Self-destruct?” Daisy finishes, parroting what Jemma had said earlier.

“Yes.” Jemma pulls away, cradles Daisy’s face between her hands to wipe the tears away with her sweeping thumbs.

“I know.”

“I wish things could be different.”

“I know,” Daisy says again.

“I’m going to stay on base tonight,” Jemma tells her, hands falling, moving back slightly. “But I don’t want you to be by yourself.”

Daisy sniffles, turning away, dumping her drink down the drain. “I’ll be alright.”

“I’m sure Fitz would love to come over, if you let him.”

A fresh wave of tears rise to Daisy’s eyes, and she grips the edge of the counter. She’d pushed him away like she pushed away everyone else, no matter how badly it had hurt. “You need him tonight.”

“You need him more.”

Daisy can’t help huffing out a humorless laugh. “You know this is a breakup, Jemma, you’re not supposed to be this self-sacrificial.”

She turns back, and Jemma just gives a little shrug, and doesn’t smile. “I’m going to tell him to come over. I hope you let him in when he gets here.”

Daisy wipes her face. “I might.”

“Okay.” Jemma watches her, then looks away. “I’m going to get my things.”

“Okay.”

Jemma moves away, back toward their bedroom. _Her_ bedroom, Daisy mentally corrects. Will she get a new place? Somewhere smaller. Somewhere without the memories, the little touches of Jemma everywhere.

She stays in the kitchen while Jemma finishes packing her things, just staring at the wall. And then Jemma stands in the front doorway, looking at her, a suitcase in each hand.

Daisy moves towards her, but it’s only to unlock the door and pull it open.

There are tears in Jemma’s eyes when she says, “Goodbye, Daisy,” and leans forward, slowly, carefully, and presses a kiss to Daisy’s lips. A goodbye kiss. Daisy lets her.

Jemma pulls away, a tear dropping down her face.

Daisy swallows, looking away. “Bye, Jemma.”

For a moment Jemma doesn’t move, but then she’s gone, down the hall and down the stairwell. Out of the apartment, but not out of Daisy’s life, she’d said. (Like seeing her and not being with her isn’t going to hurt worse than anything else.)

Daisy stands in the doorway, looking out into the empty hall. She doesn’t feel anything but a buzz in her bones. Then she closes the door, leans back against it, and she breaks.


	13. College AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> femslash feb is BACK BABY!!! 
> 
> falling asleep with their head on the other person's lap + playing with hair

Daisy blinks. “How long have you been here?”

Jemma blinks back, eyes just on this side of wild, hair falling out of its bun. Her clothes look decidedly rumpled, which Daisy finds disturbing. Jemma is never rumpled. Daisy is convinced she even irons her t-shirts.

“Um.” Jemma scrunches her nose. “Since 6? I came just after dinner.”

“…Dinner,” Daisy repeats slowly. “Dinner yesterday? You know it’s Tuesday, right?”

“Oh.”

Daisy drops her bag on the floor and scoots into the chair across from Jemma’s, leaning over the cluttered table in concern. This floor of the library is quiet around them, which just puts the other girl in sharper focus. “Have you slept? That was like 20 hours ago.”

Jemma’s mouth opens like she’s trying to think of a plausible lie. But, it’s Jemma, so she doesn’t. She just ends up wincing.

“When was the last time you got some sleep? You look horrible, no offence.”

Jemma does look offended, but then she does some mental math. “Well, you woke me up when you came and got me for breakfast. So … then.”

Daisy throws her hands up. “That was Sunday morning! Okay, nope, that’s it. You’re getting some sleep.”

Jemma clings to her textbook and draws it protectively against her chest. “But it’s finals! I have to study!”

“You’re always telling me that shit about how the brain refreshes itself with sleep and all that. You can’t pull that out on me and not think it applies to you, too. Sleep, now.”

Jemma groans. “My dorm is so far away, and it’s so cold …”

“There are couches. Come on.”

Daisy gets up, grabs Jemma’s arm, and starts dragging her toward the nearest couch, positioned along the wall under a shaded window. Jemma whimpers and reaches back for the table, and it’s really quite pitiful, but Daisy won’t be moved from this. She stops her in front of the couch and puts her hands on her hips. “Sleep.”

The nose scrunch returns. “I don’t want to put my head on the cushion. Who knows the last time they washed them. The number of germs these couches have come in contact with …”

Daisy rolls her eyes, and plops onto one end of the couch. She pats her thigh. “Come on.”

Jemma’s eyes widen, a blush coloring her cheeks. “Oh. Um …”

“Jemma. I’m serious. You either sleep here or I’m dragging your ass back to your dorm and locking you away from all your books for 24 hours.”

Jemma makes a motion like she’s tucking her hair behind her ears even though there’s no hair to tuck. She clears her throat, sinks slowly onto the couch, and, ever so careful, puts her head in Daisy’s lap. Daisy can feel her jaw clench and unclench against her thigh.

“Now sleep.”

Not sure what to do with her hands, Jemma settles for wrapping her arms around herself. Daisy shrugs off her leather jacket and lays it over the other girl.

But Jemma is still tense. She doesn’t even have her eyes closed. So Daisy, slowly, pulls her hair out of its bun and starts to run her fingers through it. For a moment Jemma just holds herself tighter, but then she relaxes.

It’s not until Jemma is already asleep, soft little snores muffled against the fabric of Daisy’s jeans, that Daisy realizes she’s left her phone, notes, and all her books at the table. Oh well. Totally worth it. She settles back against the couch and closes her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send me femslash feb prompts over at buckysbears!!

**Author's Note:**

> Still taking prompts on my tumblr buckysbears!


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